
There is not one type of friendship, Aristotle argues, but three. The highest type – the friendship of virtue – contributes most to our pursuit of the good life; but it is difficult to cultivate, and we may only achieve it a few times (if at all) in our lifetimes.
Childhood Friends, by Carl Spitzweg (1855), via Wikimedia Commons
Anyone with any acquaintance with philosophy will know that, on the topic of friendship, Aristotle’s name will never be far from the discussion. The Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle’s 2,300-year-old treatise on the good life, contains ten sections: he dedicates two of them to friendship, such is its importance in his vision of a life well lived.
“Friendship is one of the most indispensable requirements of life,” Aristotle writes:
For no one would choose to live without friends but in possession of everything else that is good. Friends are of help to the young by protecting them from mistakes; to the elderly by looking after them and making up for their failing powers of action; to those in the prime of life, to help them in doing good things.
So important is friendship, Aristotle declares, that it may even trump justice when it comes promoting the good life for all:
When men are friends they have no need of justice, while when they are just they need friendship as well, and the truest form of justice is thought to be a friendly quality.
So what makes a friendship? What bonds us to some people, and not others?
Aristotle suggests we’re drawn to people for one or a combination of the following reasons: because they are useful to us in some way, because we enjoy their company, or because we approve of or admire their character.
From these, he develops three broad tiers or ‘species’ of possible friendship:
It’s natural to reflect on how our own friends fit into these tiers.
A colleague might start as someone to sit next to in meetings, then grow to become a companion whose company we enjoy outside of work.
In this case, Aristotle would congratulate us on nurturing a friendship of utility to that of pleasure, but perhaps unsurprisingly it is the final level – the friendship of virtue – that he especially lauds.
Friendships of utility and pleasure have their place, but they are ultimately a pipeline for the coveted friendships of virtue. How, then, might we produce them?
Aristotle’s views on friendship are irrevocably bound up with his virtue ethics, which I discuss in my overview of Aristotle’s ‘golden mean’. He thinks the closest friendships involve individuals committed to a life of eudaimonia (virtuous flourishing).
In other words: someone who doesn’t at least try to cultivate their character according to kindness, courage, integrity, wisdom, compassion, or prudence is unlikely to endear themselves to many.
In fact, it’s unlikely they’ll have many friends at all. They may know and associate with lots of people, occasionally achieving a friendship of utility or pleasure, but not many would willingly turn to them in a time of need or call them a close friend.
By contrast, if two people recognise and nurture one another’s characters, aiming to bring out the best in one another in a balanced and mutually beneficial exchange over the soaring peaks and terrifying abysses of a lifetime, this essentially amounts to a ‘perfect’ friendship, Aristotle declares:
For perfect friendship you must get to know someone thoroughly and become intimate with them, which is a very difficult thing to do.
Intimacy requires commitment, time – and luck. We can probably all think of friendships that burned brightly for a few years, only to fizzle out as each party advanced to a different phase of life.
Had things been different, maybe such friendships could have progressed to friendships of virtue. But someone moved away, or their time was taken up by a new partner or hobby, or following education they began a new career or started a family that changed their priorities: a friendship may fade even if neither party wishes it to.
Years down the line, we may reunite to discover, blissfully, that the ease and kinship remains, as if no time had passed at all.
Or we might find we’ve grown apart to the extent that, had we not a common history, nothing would connect us today.
The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche describes these latter cases as ‘Star friendships’. Like two ships resting at harbour, the relationship begins in a shared sunshine; but, after setting out from port, “our exposure to different seas and suns has changed us.”
Dealing with different challenges, pursuing our own courses, we’ve become estranged; but this is no reason to feel rueful or ashamed. Even if distance now lies between us, even if rivalry or resentment has crept in, the potential contained in our former friendship can still bond us.
Perhaps a friendship of utility persists: the thought or company of the other helps unlock memory, provides access to the glorious promise of past days, stirs bittersweet reflections on how our lives might have turned out differently. As Nietzsche reflects,
Let us then believe in our star friendship even if we should be compelled to be earth enemies.
If circumstances do keep us together, however, and close friendship remains viable, Aristotle thinks building intimacy requires honesty, humility, and a genuine wish for the good of the other.
Love in the greatest friendships is a selfless, uncompetitive love: we want the best for them for their sake, we feel a sincere, unthreatened, even unconditional delight at their triumphs.
This is akin to the “delight mothers take in loving,” Aristotle tells us,
for some mothers hand over their children to be brought up, and so long as they know their fate they love them and do not seek to be loved in return (if they cannot have both), but seem to be satisfied if they seem them prospering.
The most significant limitation Aristotle places on friendships of virtue is the number we can maintain.
“To be a friend to many people in the way of perfect friendship is impossible,” he warns:
it is difficult to share intimately in the joys and sorrows of many people; for one may very likely be called upon to rejoice with one and to mourn with another at the same time.
A friend to all is a friend to none: we cannot prioritise everyone. The closest friends strive to be there at the important moments of each other’s lives, even if this means letting other people down.
So, we must choose our close friends wisely, and cultivate them virtuously.
Aristotle’s account of friendship underscores his view that excellent activity is central to a life well-lived, the highest good, and the most accurate definition of happiness.
In forming relationships, he urges us to go beyond utility and pleasure and seek to fulfill our human potential by connecting with others in the most sincere, meaningful, and prosperous way possible: by cultivating mutual love.
For mutually loving relationships – those in which two people strive to be the best they can be to each other and themselves – are not just key sources of happiness, Aristotle judges, but among the pinnacles of human achievement.
(Contrast this with Schopenhauer, who with his porcupine dilemma suggests solitude is a better match for achievement than companionship.)
So a life of excellent activity, bolstered by excellent relationships, is very much a recipe for happiness for Aristotle.
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